


Budapest

by DawnieWrites



Series: Clintasha Week on Tumblr [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clintasha Week 2012, F/M, Tumblr-ing it up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnieWrites/pseuds/DawnieWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2012 Day 2<br/>Budapest was a shit storm – that’s one thing that both Clint and Natasha agree upon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Budapest

Budapest was a shit storm – that's one thing that both Clint and Natasha agree upon: the information was bad and the contact was worse. If you asked Natasha, the entire operation was FUBAR from the moment someone hacked their comm.-links and broke radio silence; if you asked Clint, the operation should have been scratched the moment it landed on Coulson's desk.

An undercover operation into a suspected child-trafficking ring running out of Budapest; intelligence suggested that the entire operation was being controlled by a well-respected Hungarian politician, so Natasha was automatically picked by Fury to go undercover. It was their first mission together after almost two months of solo operations for the both of them, but they had been partners for almost three years and had always worked well together. So it was no surprise that Coulson called both Natasha and Clint into his office for the mission details the moment that Clint stepped off of the quinjet from Venezuela.

Clint was against the mission from the get-go. He hated radio silence, especially while on mission with Natasha. She didn't talk much to begin with, but she was almost completely non-responsive while in the field, unless she was in the field with Clint. When the two of them were alone, the silence was almost comforting; but Clint hated not being able to communicate with her while on an op. It had taken her months to adjust to working with a partner after joining S.H.I.E.L.D., and even after she had adjusted, she still worked best with Clint.

But Budapest was bad.

What Natasha remembers is the firefight; waking up tied to a chair and surrounded by armed men working for a rich megalomaniac psychopath is not the most pleasant feeling in the world. She remembers escaping from the basement room where they had been keeping her captive. She remembers finding the two dozen missing girls, all dead, locked in the warehouse above the basement. She remembers stealing a gun from one of her captors and escaping outside into the chilly Hungarian night; Hawkeye found her, facing off against fifteen men twice her size, all far more heavily armed and better prepared. She remembers diving in front of a bullet for him anyway.

Clint remembers everything; he remembers arriving in Budapest a day after Natasha to find a leggy blonde in her place, clinging to the arm of a diplomat and playing the part of gorgeous American airhead to a 'T'. He remembers giving her the one-way communication necklace, a tiny inconspicuous dark green gem developed per his request by the S.H.I.E.L.D. research and development team, just so that he could hear her. He remembers her disappearing from his view of the crowded ballroom, no sound to be heard from the microphone embedded in the necklace. He remembers tracking the politician's bodyguard to an abandoned warehouse district off of the Danube. He remembers finding her, an almost feral snarl on her face as she fired a stolen gun. He remembers fighting together; remembers the sound of a shot firing; remembers her pushing him out of the way, falling to the ground before rolling back to her feet and grabbing the gun her kept in his thigh holster just for her.

Clint remembers the two of them, holed up in some shithole in a tiny little town just outside of Budapest, waiting for their extraction. He remembers Natasha muttering brokenly in a mix of Russian and English, sweating out the fever from the infected bullet wound in her side – the bullet wound meant for him. He remembers smoothing her hair back and muttering soothing words in her ear.

But what he remembers most is her one moment of clarity, when she grabbed his wrist firmly and looked at him with crystal clear eyes, pulling him down to eye-level. Her face shone with sweat and she reached up to touch his cheek before speaking slowly, voice hoarse and strained as she spoke words that he wouldn't be able to understand until months later, on their next undercover assignment, which ends, not in a firefight and guns and arrows and blood, but in harsh kisses and sweat and whispered words beneath heavy sheets.

“Являюсь ли я ребенка?”

**Author's Note:**

> Являюсь ли я ребенка? - Am I a child?


End file.
